CSI:NY SGA: Lost
by Yakihngenit
Summary: A John Doe Arrives in New York. CSI:NYSGA crossover


Title: Lost  
Authors: Yakihngenit (Ginny and Kathie)  
Fandoms: CSI: NY / Stargate: Atlantis  
Disclaimer: No one is ours, we're just borrowing them, twisting things, and having a bit of fun. Since we're both future teachers and we all know how much teachers get paid, there's no point in suing us.  
Parings: none (yet)  
Warnings: Crossover  
Rating: FRT  
CoClaim100 Prompt 77. Memories  
Summary: A John Doe appears in New York – without his memory…  
Authors Notes: Red blue green purple orange who notices the weird words one two three four five in the middle of the authors notes? apple orange banana no one does, we know that strawberry grape chocolate. There will be a sequel.

* * *

A quick glance at the watch on his wrist confirmed that yes, he was late. Sheldon Hawkes frowned slightly and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Mac would not be pleased, even if he knew that it wasn't Sheldon's fault.

He parked the car and climbed out. His kit he'd already put on the passenger seat, so that he could just take it with him without losing more time. The others were already processing the scene, he could see them beyond the yellow crime scene tape.

Flack raised a silent eyebrow when he saw Hawkes, but he didn't say anything. He just continued scribbling something into his memobook when Shel finally ducked under the tape and joined Mac and Lindsay at the scene of their crime.

Mac finished talking with Lindsay before turning to Sheldon. "I need you to go to Angel of Mercy. We found an injured man on the edge of the scene," he gestured vaguely toward where Danny was taking photographs. "He was armed, covered in blood, and very confused when he briefly regained consciousness. I need you to process him and see what you can find out."

Sheldon nodded. "I'm on my way," he said and turned on his heel.

"Let me know what you find out," Mac called after him, but Shel could hear in his voice that Mac was already back concentrating on his evidence.

Flack fell in step with him. "Are you going to process John Doe?" he asked, and Shel nodded. "Yeah." He frowned. "What are you doing here, Flack? This is no homicide."

Flack shrugged. "The amount of blood you guys found indicates that it probably is," he answered. "And the guy said something about having killed a man."

Hawkes nodded. "I'll see what I can find out," he promised and climbed back into the car with a sigh.

He pulled out into traffic again and groaned. If Mac wanted to punish him for being late, this was the best way, rush hour Manhattan traffic. He wondered who he was going to investigate and just what had happened at the scene. The place had been trashed and Flack was right, there was a lot of blood there. He was even more intrigued by John Doe. The guy probably just had not wanted to give them his name, but it was still a puzzle and Shel loved puzzles.

* * *

Approximately half an hour later, he arrived at the hospital their John Doe had been brought.

After speaking briefly to the doctor who only confirmed that John Doe had suffered several blows against his head with varying force. The resulting concussion probably was responsible for the confusion Mac had reported. It sounded, Shel thought, like a concussion, which would explain the man's inability to tell the cops his name.

"He's a junkie," the doctor added, as an afterthought.

Sheldon frowned, but he thanked him and followed the nurse to the man's room. It was time to meet John Doe.

One look at him and Shel suspected that the doctor's were wrong. This man was too clean cut underneath all of the bruises to be a junkie. He was thin, but he wasn't skeletal, addicted thin. He looked like a man who had run into trouble.

His dark hair was cut short and was matted down with blood and sweat, but still strands of it defied gravity and stuck out at odd angles. Shel's trained eye took in the bruises, scrapes, the old scars and new cuts. No, he repeated his first impression; this man was not addicted to drugs.

Sheldon looked back up at the stranger's face and found hazel eyes staring back at him.

His voice sounded rusty, scratchy, as if the man hadn't talked in a while. Sheldon smiled reassuringly and identified himself. "Sheldon Hawkes, Crime Scene Investigation."

The stranger just stared at Shel. "Sir, can you tell me your name?"

A frown was the only reaction. "My name?" the man repeated questioningly. "Yeah, it's..." he trailed off. His frown deepened. "I don't remember," he finally said. "I don't...what happened to me?"

"That's what we were hoping you would tell us," Shel answered. "What's the last thing that you remember?"

The man shook his head softly. "Nothing," he said softly. "I don't remember anything." His hands tightened instinctively into fists, and Sheldon hurried to smile again at him. "We'll do what we can, sir, but I need to process you," he explained.

The man gazed at him intently for several very long moments before slowly nodding. Sheldon moved to the side of the bed, setting down his case and opening it. He explained what he was going to do before doing it, hoping to keep the man calm has he scraped under his fingernails and took samples.

"That's it," he said finally, as he closed the lid to his kit.

The man took a shuddery breath and released it slowly. "Okay," he said. "Let me know if you find out who I am."

For a moment, Shel wondered about the casual way the other man treated his serious condition, but then he shook his head. "I need a blood sample, as well," he explained. The tox screen would show which drugs the man had taken, voluntarily or involuntarily. The bruises around his wrists and ankles indicated force, Sheldon thought and shifted the camera in his hands. "I will," he simply promised. "I'll be back to ask you some questions once you're feeling better."

The man nodded and closed his eyes again. Within minutes, he seemed to be asleep.

Once Sheldon was out of the room, the man opened his eyes and looked around the room. He tried to make sense of where he was. He knew that he was in a hospital, but everything seemed completely unfamiliar. With a short sigh he closed his eyes again and hoped that the CSI - Hawkes - would be able to help him figure things out.

For now, there was nothing for him to do but wait. His head was throbbing, and he knew that he had a concussion. He had no idea why he knew it, where he'd learned that, but he knew instinctively what it was. He recognized the signs.

His last thoughts before falling asleep were that he was safe. Earth was safe, at least safer than home. He frowned softly. That didn't make sense, but he knew it was true.

Sheldon carefully placed his kit in his car before getting in himself. John Doe intrigued him. He wanted to know what happened to him and who he was. Something told him that the man wasn't behind whatever had happened at that scene, but had been there against his will. If he was being honest with himself his interest wasn't purely professional, something about this man pulled at him.

Shaking his head slightly, he pulled out of his parking space. He wasn't going to get his answers by sitting there.

And, he thought with a soft smile, he could go back to visit John Doe as soon as he had some results.

When he got back to the lab, he found Lindsay in the Trace lab and Mac and Danny going over the photos of the scene that Danny had taken, trying to talk out what exactly had happened.

"What did you find out?" Mac asked.

Sheldon shrugged. "Not much. He doesn't remember a single thing of his life, not even his name. Bruises on his wrists and ankles indicate force. Mac, I think our John Doe is the victim of something."

Danny nodded, answering for Mac, "That's what we were thinking too. It looks like he was followed or chased inside." He pointed at one of the photos, "This one shows that someone left the scene. They probably thought he was dead or would be dead soon, therefore he wasn't a threat."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure the evidence supports your theory Danny."

"No, but it's all we've got right now," Sheldon sighed and connected the camera with the computer.

"Let's get to work," Mac said and gave Sheldon a quick smile.

Sheldon nodded, but he was already concentrating on the pictures he'd taken. Absent-mindedly he noticed Danny taking the trace samples he'd collected and disappearing in the general direction of the trace lab, but he was not paying attention to it. He knew that Danny could - and would - do his job.

"Hawkes?" Mac asked a few minutes later.

"Huh - yeah?" he asked, realizing that he'd been staring at the pictures of John Doe. The doctor in him was concerned at the bruises, but the CSI wanted to know where the scars came from, and the man wanted to know more. "I think something bad happened to him Mac."

Mac tilted his head slightly to the side as he scanned the pictures. "Gunshots. Knife wounds." He traced a finger over the scars. "He's had a rough life." He frowned and gave one of the photos a closer examination. "Flack is working on it - so far, nobody is missing him."

Sheldon nodded and turned his attention to another picture.

* * *

Several hours later they'd processed everything and were finally getting the results back. He'd been given a nasty combination of drugs, but the evidence pointed to him being the only victim of the scene. Unfortunately, they still didn't know who he was. Or who had done this to him. Or even why.

Flack had been through the missing person files, but none of them fitted the mysterious stranger.

Hawkes shook his head slightly. There was one thing they could do now: go back to the crime scene.

"Why are we here?" Lindsay asked as they walked past the tape and back onto the crime scene. Mac had agreed to let him go back to the scene on the condition that someone else went with him. Stella had snagged Danny to help her with a double homicide, which had left Lindsay to go with him.

"Because we still don't know who he is or what happened to him. We must've missed something this morning."

She frowned at him, "We spent hours here this morning."

"Hawkes. We didn't miss anything," Lindsay insisted and sighed. "We've turned every stone here."

"We must've missed something," Shel repeated. "He couldn't have appeared out of thin air. Where did he come from?" He pointed his flashlight to the ground. "Tire tracks, foot prints, anything."

But, no matter how much they searched, they didn't find anything else. It seemed, Hawkes had to admit, as if their stranger really had appeared out of thin air. He knew that couldn't be true, but there was no evidence that could tell him what had happened.

"There's nothing here, Hawkes," Lindsay sighed. "Let's go back to the lab."

"You go ahead," he said with a smile. "I'll go back to the hospital. Maybe John Doe remembered something in the meantime."

When he got back to the hospital John was awake and restless. He was flipping through stations on the tv and a sat of newspapers sat on the floor by the bed.

"Hey," Sheldon smiled and knocked softly. The man looked up. His hair had been washed and now looked even wilder than Shel had suspected the first time he'd laid eyes on the man. The worst cuts had been bandaged up, and he looked even paler on the white sheets.

"Hey," he answered with a little frown. "How's it coming?"

Shel entered the room completely and closed the door behind him. "Not good," he admitted. "Did you remember anything? No matter how insignificant it seems, every bit of information could help us."

The man shook his head and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Nothing."

"It'll be fine," Sheldon assured him. "You'll remember everything in time. No need to worry yet John."

The man gave him a suspicious look, "You know who I am?"

Sheldon blushed. "At the moment, you're John Doe. We're still working on figuring out who exactly you are."

"John." The man smirked. "I could live with it. Not forever, but..." he shrugged awkwardly and turned serious again. "You have no idea what happened to me?"

"No. I'm sorry."

John shrugged and aimed the remote at the tv. "Nothing on here even seems familiar. Shouldn't it seem somewhat familiar?"

"Not necessarily." Sheldon took the chart and scanned it briefly. "The human mind deals with stress differently. Who knows, maybe tomorrow your memories will be back already."

"I hope so," John said with another shrug.

"Excuse me," a nurse said, stepping into the room and holding a needle. "I need another sample of blood. We need to make sure that the drugs are leaving your system."

"More voodoo," John sighed, holding out his arm.

Sheldon's lips twitched. "Voodoo?" he repeated in disbelief. John chuckled. "Yeah, it's something Rodney said all the time..." He cocked his head. "Who is Rodney?" he then asked.

"Someone special to you?" Shel guessed. John shook his head. "I don't remember." He rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Why can't I remember?"

"You've been through a lot," Sheldon said, trying to be comforting and ignoring the part of him that was jealous of this Rodney person. He didn't know who John was or anything about him, he wasn't allowed to be jealous of his friends ... or whoever Rodney was.

"Your memory is not gone," he said and smiled. "You remembered Rodney."

"Yeah, but I don't remember anything about him." John sighed. "What if I'll never remember?" he suddenly asked.

"You will."

"What if I don't?"

"We'll worry about that when the time comes, okay? Just relax. It'll be fine," Shel soothed.

John sighed. "When can I leave?" he then wanted to know.

"Not until we know for sure that the drugs you were given are out of your system. We'll hopefully know who you are by then."

"You could let me go now," John said hopefully. "It's not like this place is huge."

Sheldon chuckled. "They can afford keeping you over night," he said. "Is there anything you need?"

"Not if you can't get me my memories back," John answered, but he was smiling.

"Here's my card," Sheldon handed over the little piece of paper. "If there is anything - if you remember something, or if you need something, don't hesitate to call me, okay?"

John took it and scanned it briefly. "Thanks," he said - and yawned.

"Get some sleep," Sheldon advised.

John nodded. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

Shel slowly stood up. "If you want to," he said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "I can drop by."

"Great." John smiled again, an easy, friendly smile, and lied back, pulling his blanket up to his chin.

"Good night," Shel smiled and quietly left the room.

The next day the drugs were mostly out of John's system, but he still didn't remember anything about who he was. He reluctantly agreed to stay another day. By the time the third day rolled around, the case had officially stalled out and the doctors had agreed to release John as long as he was carefully supervised.

"Carefully supervised?" John repeated, looking a bit lost. "I don't even know my own name, how should I find someone to supervise me? Besides, I'm bad at following orders."

"You can stay with me," Sheldon answered. "I know post-concussion treatment and when to bring you back in, if needed. Maybe we can figure things out together."

"I'd like that," John smiled. "Thank you."

The rest was only a matter of paperwork and one final exam, and finally John was free to go. He gave the nurses a friendly wave, and none of them noticed that he grabbed Shel's arm to stay upright.

"Just get me out," he said between gritted teeth. "Please."

Shel gave him a concerned look but nodded, helping him escape the hospital. Once they stepped outside, John stopped and looked around him at the buildings and sun.

"Does this look familiar?" Shel asked gently.

John hesitated. "I remember..." he began. "I remember a city. Big. Empty. She was talking to me." He stopped and snorted. "I think it was a dream," he then said.

"Sounds like it," Shel admitted. "I have the day off. We'll go to my apartment, have lunch, and move on from there. Anything in particular you'd like for lunch?"

John smiled. "A sandwich," he decided. "That would be great. We didn't have..." A shadow fell over his face. "This is frustrating."

"Your memory will return on its own, when you're ready," Shel said. "Don't try to rush things. Pressure will not help."

"Maybe," John said, but he still felt like punching something.

Shel seemed to have picked up his dark mood and didn't try to start a conversation again. They drove in silence until they reached Shel's apartment.

"It's not much," he explained as he turned the key in the lock. John gave him a smile. "It's better than the hospital," he answered.

John stepped into the apartment and turned to watch Sheldon manually close the door. He wondered why that seemed a bit unusual. After the door was closed, he turned to survey the apartment of the man who had offered to help him out. He was sure that they had never met before yet, somehow, he felt safe with him. For the moment, that was going to have to do. He'd regain his memories, figure out who he was and where he belonged. Until then he'd get to know Sheldon a little bit better and try to relax. It would all work out. These things always did.

He didn't know where he'd learned it, but he knew that he had to blend in, stay calm, and do his best not to get caught. His friends would get him out of here, even if he didn't remember them.

They remembered him - he hoped - and they always came through. He just had to be patient.

They had to remember him. He refused to believe anything else. There was no knowledge in his life at the moment, so all he had was this belief. And he planned on holding on to it with all his strength.

They'd bring him home. Where ever that was.

* * *

Elizabeth worriedly looked around. They were incomplete, a vital member of her expedition - of her friends and family - was missing. They had only learned about it a few days ago, and there wasn't much they could do while still on Atlantis.

She tried to smile encouragingly. "Okay," she began the meeting, feeling the weight of all their eyes on her. Sometimes she really hated being the leader they all looked up to. They had expectations, and she sometimes feared that she couldn't fulfill them.

Forcefully she brought her thoughts back to the problem at hand. "You all know what this is about," she began without preamble. "Now I'm looking for suggestions."

It was going to be a long meeting.

The End.


End file.
